Bumps & Lumps
by Kenna Mac
Summary: Brock sucks at taking care of himself, so it's a good thing the rest of the team is there to ensure he's okay.
1. Explosion

They were clearing a building, Sonny on point with Trent on rear guard while Brock and Cerb took the middle. The rest of Bravo team was securing the perimeter. Normal, routine shit that they were so accustomed to they could do it in their sleep.

Suddenly Cerb sat down and gave a low whine. Brock saw Sonny's hand on the doorknob to the last room they had to check and without a thought he reacted, running before his brain had caught up to his body. He hit the Texan a split second before there was a deafening blast that sent them both flying, then darkness.

* * *

"...Brav...ree...avo four…five!"

"Sonn..."

"Bud...to me..."

"...ock...down!"

A bolt of lightning spearing through his side had Brock wrenching his eyes open, the world around him hazy. A figure hovered over him and he thought he heard someone call his name, but with his ringing ears and aching skull it was impossible to make sense of the garbled words being tossed around him.

But everything lurched into focus the instant a pair of hands touched his side. The blurry figure coalesced into Sonny who was leaning over him, both hands pressing down on a wad of gauze. Hard.

Brock tried to shove him away, to stop the wave of pain cresting towards him, but Trent was suddenly there.

"Easy, easy, you're okay," Trent said, gently taking off his helmet and setting it to the side. "In the explosion you got hit with some shrapnel. We're gonna wrap your side but you gotta promise not to touch it. Can you do that for me?"

Brock gave a weak nod, his headache ramping up a level as his heart rate also jumped. _Shrapnel_. He tried to breathe as he waited for the nausea to pass.

"Alright buddy, this is gonna suck but we gotta roll you," Trent said, nodding at Sonny who quickly shuffled into position near Brock's shoulders. Together they rolled him onto his side and though he tried to stay quiet he couldn't stop the groan that escaped. Sonny squeezed his shoulder in sympathy while gloved fingers gently felt along his back before he was returned to the floor, his vision graying out from all the movement.

"No through and through so we can pressure wrap," Trent was saying to Sonny as he pulled gauze out of his med bag. Daring to glance down, Brock saw a piece of metal sticking up a few inches past his vest, directly above his hip bone. Within a few moments Trent had tightly secured it from shifting with numerous bandages. But simply seeing it reminded him there was something _in_ him.

That's when the shock started.

"Hey buddy, you're doing great," Trent said, noticing the shivers that had begun to wrack Brock's body as he elevated his feet on a broken chunk of concrete.

"Don't...feel great," Brock retorted.

Trent again rummaged through his med bag. "I'm gonna give you some fluids." He soon produced a bag of saline and quickly started the IV. Brock tried to focus on the slight pinch in his arm rather than the fire in his side, but it was difficult.

"Yah boss. Brock got clipped in the side, can't tell how deep it is but Trent says there's no exit. We'd love to be out of here soon," Sonny said, presumably to the faint voice of Jason echoing from nearby. Brock realized his helmet was gone, a faint memory of someone taking it, and turned his head to look for it. He gasped as his vision went white.

"Hey, don't move! You've probably got a concussion," Trent explained, fingers gently probing his skull. Brock closed his eyes and allowed Trent to finish his examination while the ringing in his ears slowly faded back to a dull roar. It was a toss up for which hurt more, his head or his side.

"Cerb?" he asked, voice gravelly. There was a scuffle then a wet nose pressed against his cheek and he huffed weakly.

"Lassy saved our bacon yet again," Sonny said fondly. "Gave you enough of a warning to tackle me out of the way like some linebacker from hell!"

Brock knew Sonny was just trying to lighten the mood. The other operator was a man of few serious moments and always seemed at his best coming from a place of emotional detachment. Which was fine by him, it kept him from focusing too much on how much he _hurt._

"You owe me a case of beer," he said quietly, earning himself a chuckle from his teammates.

"We both do," Trent corrected. "Plus a new chew toy for Cerb."

"I second that," Sonny agreed.

The sound of falling debris quickly ended their peaceful moment. Brock opened his eyes, blinking to clear his vision.

"We trapped?" he asked. Trent and Sonny shared a quick look.

"The guys are working on gettin' us out," Sonny replied. Brock sighed, Cerberus shifting closer. So that was a yes. He tried to stay calm as his eyes began growing heavy. Maybe some rest would help his headache.

"Brock! Brock, come on, open your eyes!" Trent coaxed. He tried but there was a sudden weight keeping them closed. He was too tired to fight the pull of sleep.

* * *

"He's still out, but his pulse is good and the bandage seems to be holding."

"D'n touch..."

Brock weakly pushed against the hands touching his side, his arms heavy. Even breathing was an effort.

"Brock, you with me?" Sonny asked.

"Mhmm," he grumbled, debating whether to simply go back to sleep.

"Hey, hey, no sleeping!" Trent ordered. Brock blinked heavily up at his two teammates.

"Welcome back," Sonny smiled. He was kneeling beside him with Trent on his other side, both of them watching him closely.

"Can you tell me where we are?" Trent asked.

"Colombia. There was a bomb and we, we um...we got trapped?"

"That's right. We're still in the building but the guys think they should be able to get us out in the next few minutes," said Trent.

Brock exhaled, allowing his eyes to slide closed. A rough hand gripped his chin. "Open your eyes number five!"

His eyes snapped open at the command, staring up at Sonny Quinn. The Texan had a fierce look on his face and his fingers were squeezing Brock's chin so tightly he couldn't move his head.

"You keep your eyes open, do you hear me?"

The command was clear. As number three, he was their unofficial leader until they were clear of the building and back with the rest of the team. So whatever order he gave, Brock would do everything he could to follow.

"N'sleepin'" he slurred, earning himself a pat on the cheek as Sonny released him. Trent sat back with a heavy sigh. Cerb nudged him with a small whine.

The sudden pops of gunfire nearby had all three of them tensing, muscle reflexes demanding they return fire.

"Boss, you good?" Sonny asked into his headset. For a moment there was silence before more gunshots erupted from the side of the building closest to them. Trent threw himself over Brock while Sonny covered Cerberus, and the four of them hunkered down to wait it out.

After a few moments the gunfire stopped, then their radios crackled to life. Sonny and Trent relaxed from their protective positions and looked at each other which made Brock start to get worried.

"Copy Bravo One. Holding our position," Trent said into his mic.

"The guys okay?" Brock asked.

Trent patted him on the shoulder reassuringly. "They took some heat but things are quiet again. Brass is worried about them being too exposed and ordered them to fall back to a nearby building. Once it's dark they'll finish digging us out. We just have to be patient."

Brock signed. He had been clinging to the hope of being rescued ASAP and the thought of having to wait a few hours before the rest of their team could return to try and finish the excavation wasn't a happy one. He was shaking, hurt, and dizzy. And being ordered to stay awake when a nap would help kill the time only seemed to sour his mood further.

"Can...can I have some morphine?" he asked, aware that he'd never been injured enough to request drugs before. It was new territory for him and he didn't like it, but the pain in his side and head was making the task of staying awake even harder.

Trent shook his head sadly. "Sorry buddy, we can't risk it with your concussion."

He knew his friend was just following protocol, that he wasn't being malicious or trying to hurt him, but in spite of that he had to blink away the burn of tears. He focused on his breathing and mentally cursed the way concussions always fucked up his emotions.

"What's going on with Jess? We haven't seen her around lately," Sonny coaxed. Brock looked up at the ceiling. The last person he wanted to think about was Jess. They had fit together like two puzzle pieces, dating for nearly four years. But eventually she had wanted something more stable and his hectic life as an operator had driven a wedge between them. He hadn't told any of the guys they'd broken up a week before. Opening up wasn't his forte, and he had more important things to focus on.

But now that he had nothing more to do than lay there on the ground bleeding and concussed, his mind seemed to only want to think about the woman he had lost. The tears threatened to start again.

"Brockolli?" Sonny asked, using his affectionate nickname to bring him back to the present.

He was unsure what to say. "We broke up."

"Oh man," Trent said, hanging his head.

Sonny looked torn between sympathy and anger. "Why didn't you tell us?!"

"Not important," Brock replied. He hadn't thought it was worth mentioning.

"Brother, that is **definitely** important!" the Texan railed.

"Did she move out?" Trent asked. Brock gave a small nod. The medic huffed, looking unhappy. "That means when we get back you're staying with one of us. No way are you healing up on your own."

Brock shook his head, ignoring the headache. "M'fine."

Sonny rolled his eyes and mumbled something to Cerberus about his human idiot. Trent leaned forward, his face hovering a short distance from Brock's. "This isn't up for discussion. You're staying with one of the guys until I deem you cleared to return to your apartment. And don't even think about going around me to Jason or Ray, I'm sure they'll both be on my side on this. So just accept our help."

He swallowed past the lump in his throat and gave a short nod, flinching when the throbbing in his head increased in response. Trent relaxed, giving his arm a squeeze as he sat back.

"What time is it?" he asked.

"It's nearly seventeen-hundred," Trent replied, checking his watch. "Sunset should be in about two hours."

"Then we can get the hell out of here," Sonny added.

After that things got fuzzy. Trent started a new saline bag and closely monitored his pulse and blood pressure. Sonny passed the time by checking every inch of Cerberus to ensure their favorite canine was in one piece, while Cerberus thoroughly enjoyed the attention. And Brock focused on staying awake as ordered, despite his pounding skull and the intense desire to _sleep_.

"How's he doing?" Sonny asked as Trent replaced the blood soaked bandage with a new one. Brock felt listless, listening as if from a great distance.

"The bleeding's slowed, but his pressure's in the toilet and this is the last bag of saline," Trent replied, voice pitched low.

"What can I do?"

"Make the sun set early, or get us out of here," Trent sounded worried, bringing the world a little closer into focus as Brock tried to pay more attention.

"Bravo one, what's your ETA?" Sonny asked into his headset. There was a crackle as someone replied and he paled, all bravado gone as he looked at Trent.

"Wha's wrong?" Brock asked. He might be hurt, but he was still overly perceptive of his teammates. They'd been through too much together not to be.

Trent turned to him, giving him a quick smile that didn't reach his eyes. "The rest of Bravo should be here soon."

Brock shivered, knowing his friend was lying to him but he was too tired to figure out why. Sonny noticed the trembles and quickly stripped off his jacket to lay over him while Trent started a new bag of saline.

"What...what time is it?" he asked, catching the glance his teammates shared.

Sony leaned forward, watching him closely. "You sure got scrambled, huh?"

Brock shrugged, hissing when the movement pulled at his side. Judging by their reactions he had already asked that question previously though he had no memory of it. With his brain so addled he couldn't be sure.

"It's okay," Trent soothed, seeing the flicker of confusion cross his face. "Your short term memory is mixed up from the concussion. Completely normal."

_Completely normal._ He repeated that to himself like a mantra, trying to dispel any lingering doubt that he was truly fucked up. The occasional throbs of pain from his side tried to overrule that idea.

"Hey buddy, can you try to take slow breaths for me?" Trent asked. The heaviness in his chest was growing and Brock realized he was gasping for air like a fish out of water. But it was as if he was breathing through a straw, unable to pull in enough oxygen.

"Easy, slow breaths. In and out," Sonny coaxed, demonstrating the slower breathing.

Brock shook his head, fear taking over. He was normally a rational man who did as he was told without question, but in that instant he couldn't.

"It's okay," Trent soothed. "Just breathe. Come on, you gotta calm down."

Brock squeezed his eyes closed, focusing on slowing the rapid breaths rattling through his chest. He inhaled, held it until it felt like his lungs would burst, then exhaled. His mind panicked, screaming that he wasn't getting enough air and needed to breathe more, and though he tried to shove it away he could feel the flaring pressure building in his chest. And nothing his teammates did, not Sonny rubbing his arm in sympathy or Trent murmuring a litany of encouragement, helped.

His eyes slammed open, searching for anyone that could help because he couldn't breathe _he couldn't breathe he couldn't breathe he couldn't breathe_

There were hands gripping either side of his face and Trent was there and he _**couldn't breathe**._

His eyelids were growing heavy while the world slowly faded around him.

"No! Brock! Don't you dare!" Trent yelled. Brock sighed, the panic subsiding into a weary emptiness. Sonny squeezed his hand tightly. Trent kept yelling, tears splashing down onto him. He didn't mind.

He breathed in, then out, as the darkness consumed him.

* * *

_Trent and Sonny were yelling beside him. Soon the voices of Jason, Ray, and Clay joined in._

_Someone jostled him and he cried out, a hand resting on his shoulder._

_He drifted, barely clinging to himself._

_The **thump-thump-thump** of helicopter blades._

_Then he was floating. The world became quiet._

* * *

The sound of a door opening, then a chair moving against the floor, brought Brock out of the swirling black and closer to awareness. For a while, he was content to simply listen to the faint voices.

"How is he?" Mandy asked.

"Better. The doctor said surgery went well, but they're worried about ARDS," replied Davis.

"ARDS?"

"Acute respiratory distress syndrome. His lungs started failing when he went into hypovolemic shock, and by the time they got him out of the field he'd coded. He lost so much blood they had to give him two rapid transfusions, and his pressure is still lower than they'd like."

"Shit."

"Listen, I've got a favor to ask. The staff want to send him back to the states, but Brass wants the team to finish the op. Would you fly back with him?"

"There's no way they're gonna agree to stay in country."

"They don't have much of a choice. Blackburn laid it out to them : finish and get a guaranteed downtime until Brock heals, or leave and risk beng spun up without him."

"Jesus!"

"That's why I was hoping you might agree to go back with him. We aren't sure how long the op might take and I don't want him waking up alone."

"I'll keep an eye on him," Mandy promised. Brock allowed himself to fall deeper into sleep, the two women's voices fading away.

* * *

Brock felt pulled towards consciousness, fighting the allure of the dark. He instantly regretted it as awareness brought pain. His side was **burning** and no one appeared to notice. A whimper escaped his throat as his hands skated over his stomach before bumping into a thick bandage. Probably Trent's handiwork.

He blinked, expecting his gruff teammate to be sitting beside him looking haggard and disheveled; the usual appearance of someone who had tried valiantly to save their brother and almost failed. Instead he found himself in an unremarkable hospital room empty of any Bravo team members. He spied a pair of black sweats folded on the bedside table and slipped the nose cannula off before slowly propelling himself upright. Such a simple action took more energy than he cared to admit and left him hunched over, his side burning stronger than before. Part of him wanted to lay back down and press the nurse button, to have someone come and numb his pain with heavy duty meds.

But there was only one thing Brock Reynolds hated more than hospitals, and it was not knowing where his team or his dog was. Judging by the darkened sky outside the window it was late, probably past visiting hours. Which meant that the guys were at home resting, or he was the only one yet stateside.

Either way, he wasn't staying any longer.

He gathered what little strength he had to throw off the blanket and slide his legs out of bed, forcing himself to stand up. Once he was semi-vertical, one hand still using the bed for support, he nearly passed out but he stubbornly clung to consciousness as he flipped off the monitor and began removing leads from his chest. Then his IV, a small trickle of blood coating the inside of his arm. Finally he slipped out of the hospital gown and sat on the edge of the bed to tug on the sweatpants. He silently thanked whomever had brought the clothes for the zip up hoodie he found under the pants, and a pair of flip flops sitting on the floor. They must've known the herculean task it would be to lift his arms above his head or bend to tie his shoes.

Once dressed he had to sit back on the bed for a moment to make the room stop spinning. A sliver of doubt wondered if he was being stupid for leaving when he was obviously not physically ready.

He squashed that little voice and shoved himself to his feet and towards the door.

"What are you doing out of bed?" a female nurse demanded, spotting him leaving his room.

"I have to go," Brock replied matter-of-factly. He slowly approached the nurse's station and leaned heavily against it for support. "I'm signing myself out."

"Idiot," the nurse grumbled, grabbing a clipboard. "I'll have to get a doctor. Don't pass out, or leave."

He nodded as she hurried away, sliding the clipboard closer so he could fill out the paperwork. His bed and home were calling him.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?"

Brock turned, surprised to see Mandy rushing towards him. She appeared to not have slept recently, her hair a mess and dark smudges under her eyes.

"I'm going home."

"Like hell you are!" she snapped, taking the clipboard away from him. "I didn't spend eight hours on a plane and then eight more watching you sleep to have you do something this reckless."

"You watched me sleep?" Brock asked in surprise. Mandy sighed, running a hand down her face. Suddenly he remembered the earlier conversation he'd overheard and everything clicked into place.

"I hope you aren't serious about leaving."

Brock turned to see the nurse and a female doctor approaching. Neither looked impressed by his show of bravado.

"I've worked with plenty of headstrong vets who swear they're good enough to go home, but then they show back up a few days later worse for wear. I'm not inclined to add you to that list. You have twenty-three stitches in your side from surgery, a minor concussion, and you're still in recovery from ARDS. I am strongly advising you against leaving," the doctor said.

"I'm not gonna be back," Brock replied. "Just give me whatever form you need me to sign and I'll be out of here."

The doctor didn't appear convinced. "How are you getting home? Do you have anyone that can drive you, or look after you for the next few days?"

"Je…" Brock began, her name dying on his tongue. There was no way he was calling her for help. "I can take a Lyft."

"And I assume there's no one to force you to get some rest?" the doctor asked.

"I can bring him home, force meds down his throat and make sure he takes it easy," Mandy promised. Brock looked at her in surprise and she raised her eyebrows at him in a silent challenge, holding out the clipboard to him.

"Um...yah, she can," he said, taking the clipboard. The nurse grumbled as she sat back down at the desk and the doctor handed him a prescription for pain meds, one for blood thinners, and another for antibiotics.

"Change the bandage once a day to keep it clean and don't soak the wound, a shower's fine but no baths. No strenuous activity. With your decreased lung function you need to try some breathing exercises but make sure to get plenty of rest. And if he spikes a fever bring him back immediately," the doctor explained. Mandy absorbed all of the information in stride.

"One last time; I strongly advise against you leaving. If you do, you understand you're taking full responsibility for any potential risks?"

Brock handed the doctor the clipboard with the signed paperwork. "I understand."

He turned and began walking down the hall towards the exit, trying his damnedest to hide how shaky his legs had become or how much of a struggle it was to stay vertical. Once out of sight of the doctor and nurse, Mandy surreptitiously wrapped her arm around his side, mindful of his injury. He was too tired and sore to do much more than lean against her, thankful for the support.

"You're an idiot," she griped.

The drive to his apartment was quicker than Brock had expected, Mandy pulling into a parking spot with practiced ease. He didn't remember giving her his address.

"Wait here, I'll grab you some more clothes. Any requests?"

"Wait...why do I need clothes?" Brock asked, his brain trying to catch up.

Mandy shook her head. "You're not staying here. I'm taking you back to my place, I can keep a better eye on you there plus no stairs."

"But don't you need my keys?"

She reached in her pocket and produced his keys, jangling them at him with a mischievous smile. "Who do you think brought those clothes to the hospital for you?"

The realization dawned on him that she was trying to take care of him in her own way. It felt strange.

"Sweats are good, and maybe some shorts. There's a duffel bag in my closet," he replied.

Mandy nodded, opening her car door. "Stay here."

"Yes ma'am," he said, watching her jog up the three flights of stairs to his apartment. She disappeared inside and he took the opportunity to lay his head against the cool glass window, wondering how the team and Cerberus were doing. Without him there Cerb was probably going crazy, and Trent was the only other one trained to handle him. The poor guy. He hoped they came home soon.

Mandy returned a few minutes later, a duffel bag slung over her shoulder. She threw it in the backseat before climbing back into the car and handed him his cell phone.

"I forgot it here earlier. Looks like the guys are worried about you."

Five missed calls from Trent. Three from Sonny. One each from Jason, Ray, and Clay. Even a text from Davis. He sighed, typing out a message he hoped would alleviate their concerns before sending it out to each of them.

"Only need to make one more stop," Mandy said as she pulled into a Rite Aid parking lot. Brock gave a short nod. She hurried inside as his phone chimed, unsurprisingly Trent was calling again.

"Hey."

"Don't hey me! You signed yourself out AMA?" his best friend demanded. Brock winced.

"You know how I feel about hospitals…"

"I don't give a damn how you feel about them! You had **surgery**! Your lung function is compromised! You shouldn't even be **awake**! What the fuck do you think you're doing?!"

Brock waited for the tirade to end, knowing better than to interrupt Trent when he was in "medic mode". Though he'd never been on the receiving end of Sawyer's infamous anger before.

"You're at high risk for post-op infection, and your lungs need to be closely monitored!"

"Mandy's making me stay with her," Brock interjected. "She's very bossy."

"Oh. Well...I guess that's better than your place," Trent said.

"What's wrong with my place?"

Trent sighed heavily. "Three flights of stairs sound fun to you? And I bet you have no food. I like Mandy's idea."

Brock opened his mouth to argue but Trent said, "Hold on, Jason wants to talk to you."

"Brock Reynolds!"

Hearing his name being spoken in such a tone made him cringe. He _really_ didn't want to hear another lecture.

"Mandy's in charge until we get back, is that clear?" Jason ordered, and Brock knew better than to argue.

"Yes sir."

"Whatever she tells you to do, you do it. She decides you're an idiot and need to go back to the hospital, you're going without any complaint."

"Yes sir."

"And one of us will be checking in with her to make sure you're following orders."

"Yes sir."

"The boys wanna say hi," Jason said before putting the phone on speaker.

"Brockolli!" Sonny yelled. In spite of his embarrassment Brock smiled. "The first time you get in trouble and I'm not there to witness it!"

"Don't encourage him," Ray chuckled.

"We're just glad you're alright. Cerb mises you!" Clay said. As if on cure Cerberus gave an enthusiastic bark.

"Good boy," Brock laughed. It felt amazing hearing his brother's voices, though he wanted nothing more than to be there with them. His first major injury since joining the teams and he was stuck stateside while they were still in country. It felt wrong.

"Get some rest, we'll talk to you soon," Jason said.

"'Kay. Be safe," Brock replied. He stared at his phone long after the call had ended, his brain still a bit foggy. He figured it was the hospital drugs working their way out of his body.

Mandy appeared, loading two paper grocery bags into the backseat beside his duffel bag before climbing in and handing him a small bag with his prescriptions.

"You okay?" she asked, noticing him still staring at his phone as she pulled out onto the street.

"'M'fine." He knew she didn't believe him, but she stayed quiet the rest of the drive to her home. He wasn't surprised to see it was located in a quiet residential area with expensive cars in every driveway, large lawns, and signs for a neighborhood watch. She pulled into the driveway of a one story white house with black trim, the garage opening.

Biting back a groan, he climbed out of the car before Mandy could offer to help him, his body screaming he needed pain meds _yesterday_ along with a week long nap. When he turned to attempt to grab his bag he wasn't surprised to see her holding it already and giving him a once over as if to dare him to try and take it from her.

Reluctantly he followed her inside as the garage door closed.

"It's nothing fancy, but I like it," she said as she flipped on an overhead light and led him into a spotless kitchen. He spotted stainless steel appliances, granite countertops, black cupboards, and a center island with a large cooktop and grill.

"I love cooking," she explained, noticing his glances. "You want the tour?"

Brock shrugged, feeling it rude to refuse. Mandy led the way into the living room, an L shaped couch taking up one whole wall and separating the room from the kitchen. A TV sat opposite with bookshelves on both sides. He glimpsed the front door with triple locks as they continued down a hall to an office devoid of any decoration except her college degrees hanging behind the oak desk. Two monitors and a laptop took up most of the desk space.

"I keep the walls bare for all my notes," she explained, almost self-conscious. He wondered when she'd last had a guest.

Opposite the office was the guest bathroom with the bedroom beside it. She set his bag down in an armchair in a corner of the room and turned to look at him as he sank down onto the bed.

He couldn't hide the groan that time.

"Okay tough guy, let's get some meds into you then you can sleep," she said, leaving the room and returning a moment later with a glass of water. He didn't bother trying to pick out the correct meds, instead handing the bag over to her. She silently handed him a single oblong white pill which he swallowed, draining the glass before he gave it back and laid down.

He needed to be horizontal **now**.

"Do you want to change?" she asked. Brock shook his head, his eyes already closing.

"You're on...you're on top of the blankets."

He slowly rolled to his uninjured side, allowing her a chance to tug the blankets out from underneath him. Then, much to his dismay, she _tucked him in._

A moment later the light switched off. "Your phone's on the nightstand, and my room's right down the hall if you need anything."

"Mhmmm," Brock grumbled as way of thanks, already feeling his body melt into the mattress. He heard a chuckle then the door softly clicked shut and he slept.


	2. Against Medical Advice

Someone was there, they were asking him questions, but Brock didn't want to wake up. He liked sleep. It was warm and comfortable and safe. There were more questions, to which he gave non-committal grunts of approval. He was just so _tired_.

Suddenly the blankets were pulled back and his shirt was lifted. He shivered, unsure of what was going on. And then hands were touching his side.

Fear instantly unfurled in his chest. He didn't care if it was irrational or an overreaction, all he knew in that moment was he didn't want anyone touching him.

He lurched upright, shoving himself away.

Mandy materialized beside him, her hands raised before her in a sign of peace. "Hey, you're okay. You're okay."

For a moment Brock stared at her, the subsiding panic coupled with the fading adrenaline making his head spin. Slowly the room around them became clearer. They were in her guest bedroom, a med kit sitting open on a nearby chair along with fresh rolls of gauze.

And as quickly as the panic had hit, the embarrassment followed suit.

"I'm so sorry," Brock mumbled, looking away.

"You don't have to apologize," Mandy said. "I'm sorry for startling you. I thought you were awake."

"I was, sort of. I'm sorry."

He still couldn't look at her. He didn't want her to see the shame clearly written all over his face. The last time he'd reacted so badly to someone touching him was during SERE training six years ago. He thought he was doing _better_.

"I can wait, if you want."

"What?" Brock asked, turning to look at her.

Mandy seemed unfazed by his reaction. "I still need to change your bandage. But I can come back."

"Oh. N-no, that's okay," he said.

"Alright then. I'll try to be quick," she promised. Brock slowly laid back down, holding his breath as the movement sent fire racing up his side. Once he was horizontal Mandy leaned closer.

"I'm gonna take off the old bandage, check your stitches, then tape down a new one."

Brock gave a quick nod.

He stared at the ceiling while she again pulled his shirt up to expose his side. Her fingers gently peeled off the current bandage and he forced himself not to look down at his wound, no matter how much he wanted to.

Some things were better left unseen.

Once she finished inspecting the stitches she deftly secured a new bandage to his side and smoothed down his shirt.

"Your stitches look alright as far as I can tell, though it is a little red. I'm gonna send a pic to Trent, see what he thinks. And before your next dose you need to eat something. I've got jello, toast, or soup if anything sounds good?"

Brock had zero appetite, but he knew better than to tell her that. It was bad enough she was sending Trent a picture of his wound, if she mentioned to him that he wasn't hungry he'd get worried. A worried Trent was a lot to handle.

"I'll try some toast," he replied. Even the thought of food made his stomach clench. Yet the fear of being dragged back to the hospital outweighed the nausea

"Okay," Mandy said before leaving the room. Though he was loathe to admit it, he appreciated having her there to take care of him. It didn't make him miss the guys any less, but it was still nice.

Using the brief unattended moment, he forced himself upright. The room swam in slow circles around him before solidifying. His chest felt a little tight but not wanting to waste his sudden energy he climbed to his feet and stumbled over to his duffel bag. With one arm wrapped around his side he dug through it for a fresh shirt and boxers, then quickly changed while keeping an eye on the open doorway.

Once he'd pulled his sweats back on he grabbed his phone and headed towards the living room.

"Oh!" Mandy exclaimed, nearly running into him when he turned the corner in the hallway. He staggered sideways out of her way, his shoulder bumping the wall. A bolt of pain stabbed through his side and he leaned forward, wrapping both arms around himself.

"Shit, are you okay?"

"Fine," he lied, slowly straightening. Mandy didn't look convinced, but she didn't push him. Instead she put her arm around his waist, being careful to avoid his injury, and helped him to the living room while balancing the plate of toast in her other hand.

After she'd settled him on the section of the couch that jutted out from the wall so he could lay down and still watch tv she covered him with a blanket then handed him the plate.

Brock took a small nibble of the toast, surprised to find it quieted his stomach. He realized perhaps some food was a good idea after all.

"Any requests?" she asked as she sat down and turned on the tv. She'd left space between them which he appreciated.

"I'm good with anything," he replied, finishing the first piece of toast and moving on to the second.

"Well, I'm obsessed with this show," Mandy said, starting a new episode of Great British Baking. Brock gave a small chuckle and placed the empty plate on the cushion between them, pulling the blanket higher across his chest. Secretly he loved baking shows and found them quite calming, which after the last few days sounded perfect to him.

He settled further into the couch, content.

* * *

"He's asleep," Mandy said, her voice echoey and distant. Brock wondered who she was talking to but didn't want to interrupt, more than happy to stay in the realm of semi-sleep.

"Yeah, he's been taking his meds and I even got him to eat some toast. He freaked out earlier when I was changing his bandage, but nothing serious. No, it was fine I just startled him. I thought he was awake but then I touched him and he...no, no, it was like he was dreaming. Kept apologizing afterwards. That's what I tried after that. Yeah, I told him exactly what I was doing and he stayed calm. Okay, I will. Thanks Trent. You guys be safe. Okay. Bye."

The bubble of warmth that had expanded in his chest popped, leaving him feeling distinctly deflated.

Trent would feel honor bound to tell the others about his little "freak out" and he was certain that meant they'd treat him with extra gentleness once they returned. He hated it.

They all were damaged in their own twisted ways. He just didn't like sharing all the finer details. His teammates knew the overall story; he was an only child who got along better with animals than people. His mom had died when he was a kid and his dad died a week before his eighteenth birthday. He joined the military the day after.

After the rest of Bravo saw the scars on his back he told them they were from his father without even thinking about it. The guys had been able to fill in the rest, but they never pushed for an explanation. When he felt comfortable with each of them he shared a new tidbit about what life had been like after his mom died, like when his dad began drinking and using him as a punching bag. And for their part none of them ever made him feel like his secret wasn't safe with them. If anything it bonded their team closer than ever. He'd finally found the family he'd never had before.

They accepted him, damage and all. While he wasn't good at letting others take care of him, and hated being the center of attention, they made him realize it was okay to trust others. Having everyone worrying about him still made his skin crawl but he was getting better at allowing it.

"Brock?" Mandy asked from nearby, pulling him from his sleepy thoughts. He blinked up at her, seeing the cup of water and pill bottle in her hands.

"Next dose," she said. He pulled himself into a sitting position, his side dully throbbing. Once he'd forced the medication down with a swig of water she headed back into the kitchen.

Brock was surprised when he glanced at his phone to see he'd slept for nearly eight hours. "Any word from the guys?"

She reappeared with a new plate of toast that she handed to him before sitting down. "Still on mission, not sure how long it's gonna take to complete. They all miss you."

"I miss them too," he said, ripping the toast apart with his fingers. He wasn't hungry and hoped she wouldn't notice.

"After you eat I need to change your bandage," Mandy said.

Brock stopped fiddling with the toast to glance at her. "I could do it myself."

She shot him an appraising look. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah, I'm feeling a lot better. I think I just needed some sleep."

Fearing she still didn't quite believe him, he slowly climbed to his feet and hobbled towards the bathroom. "I'll go get it changed, you get the next episode queued up."

Mandy chuckled and he waited until he heard the tv turn on before closing the bathroom door and leaning heavily against it. His legs threatened to give out beneath him but he locked his knees and forced air into his lungs. Even if it felt like breathing through a straw.

After a moment he rolled up his shirt and peeled off the old bandage, then stood staring at his reflection in the mirror while the dread filled his stomach like a heavy lead ball.

The stitches were still intact but the skin around it was definitely red, and beginning to look swollen. And judging from the warmth he felt radiating from it, Trent's worst fear had come true.

_Infection_.

Taping down a new bandage, he straightened his shirt and splashed some water on his face. He was pale and shaky and wanted to curl up in a cave somewhere to hide how miserable he felt. But that wasn't an option.

He needed to convince Mandy everything was fine so she would report that back to Trent and the others. They needed their heads in the game so they could complete their mission without feeling the need to rush home to him. People got hurt when they rushed.

The trek back to the living room seemed to take longer than before, and he was aware of the chills that had begun creeping across his skin while his chest kept growing tighter. But Mandy hardly noticed as he sat back down on the couch and covered himself with two blankets. The next episode of the baking show started and he settled against the pillows, willing his body to cooperate.

The rest of the afternoon and early evening passed in much the same fashion, with Mandy supplying water and pills and toast at the correct times while they binged their way through an entire British Bake Off season. Trent and Jason texted her a few times, and the whole team texted him plenty. He swore the warmth he felt was embarrassment at all the attention, not the fever he could feel growing higher with each passing minute.

Finally, after finishing the first episode of a new season, he kicked off the blanket and wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand.

Mandy instantly noticed, giving him a once over before she left the room.

"I'm just a little hot, it's no big deal," he lied when she reappeared.

"Humor me," she said, holding out a thermometer to him. Reluctantly he placed it under his tongue, fearing to see exactly how bad it might be. After a minute it beeped and he checked the screen before she had a chance.

103.

_Shitshitshitshitshit_

"What's it say?" she asked, voice deceptively calm.

"Um...100. Low grade."

She didn't appear convinced, staring at him with crossed arms and a deep frown. He realized it was possible he'd finally met his match when it came to sheer stubbornness, though Cerb might give her a run for her money.

"If it gets any higher you can take me back to the hospital," he suggested. After a moment she sat back down and started the next episode, seemingly pleased with his idea.

Brock slumped down into the pillows, his hand pressing against his side. He knew it was pointless trying to mentally heal himself but the prospect of returning to the hospital seemed worth trying _something_.

The heat radiating through his hand was starting to worry him though.

* * *

He was dreaming. He had to be dreaming, because his dad was dead. There was no way Charles Reynolds could be standing in front of him, a belt in one hand and a beer in the other.

_Please let it be a dream._

"Worthless," his dad slurred, beer sloshing from the bottle as he swayed. "Can't even handle an infection like a man. You need others to take care of you like some weakling."

Brock bristled at the comments. "Go away."

"Does she even know how weak you are?" his dad continued as if he hadn't heard him. Brock glanced over at Mandy, surprised to see she was asleep on the other end of the couch.

"She has no clue how much of a dead weight you are."

"Go away."

"I bet your team doesn't know either. If they did you'd be kicked out so fast your head would spin."

"Go away!"

He was unceremoniously yanked from his dream, left shivering on the couch in the dim darkness. He was surprised to see Mandy was still asleep in the same position she'd been in during his dream.

The realization that he'd been asleep didn't calm his racing heart as much as he'd hoped. Or maybe that was the fever, which he could feel burning through him. Suddenly he yearned for a cold shower. Anything to offer a reprieve from the scorching inferno inside of him.

Quietly he stood up and shuffled towards the guest bathroom, listening for any sound to alert him that Mandy was awake. He figured it was pretty late and hoped the shower wouldn't wake her.

Yet once he stood in the bathroom, a shower seemed too difficult for him to manage. Especially since he remembered the doctor telling him to avoid getting his wound wet until the stitches had been removed later the next week. He stood in the bathroom, the glow from the lights hurting his eyes, and wished more than ever that his team was there. Trent would know what to do. Jason and Ray would settle his nerves. Sonny and Clay would crack jokes to keep him smiling.

He really needed his brothers.

Instead, he opted for turning off the light and laying down on the cold tiles. He hoped it would help bring his fever down and make breathing a little easier. Once his eyes closed the bone-weary exhaustion quickly pulled him under and he knew no more.

* * *

For a moment Brock wasn't sure where he was, finding himself curled up on his side on a hard floor. Everything hurt; each breath burned through his chest, and his side was on fire.

A dark figure crouched beside him with their hand on his shoulder and he flinched away, an urgent voice filtering through the cotton in his head.

"Brock? Hey, it's Mandy. Come on, I need you to wake up."

"M'wake," he murmured.

"Thank god," she sighed, her voice sounding different than usual. Brock blinked in the bright light, the room spinning around him. He tried to focus on her face swimming above him but the dizziness was making him see double. His eyes quickly closed before the nausea could be made worse.

"I woke up and you weren't on the couch, and when I found you on the floor I thought you…"

She seemed unable to finish her sentence. Brock tried to pay more attention even as he felt himself slipping away. Because there were definitely tears on Mandy's face and she was worried about him and he knew something was wrong.

"Hosp'tal?" he slurred. Mandy nodded quickly.

"I already called the paramedics, they should be here any minute. Just stay awake."

"D'n't tell...guys," he begged. She gave another nod.

The doorbell rang and she rushed from the room, leaving him alone on the floor. He closed his eyes and figured he could rest until she got back. Then other voices were there asking strange questions and talking loudly. Everything around him seemed to lurch and tilt as strong hands grasped him, rolling him onto his side and sliding a board beneath him. The jostling sent fire racing through his side and he whined in the back of his throat.

"Easy Brock, let the paramedics do their job," Mandy said from nearby. Brock relaxed, as much as he could under the circumstances, and felt himself begin to float. He wondered if he was moving on his own, or being moved. A sudden blast of cooler air yanked him closer to awareness and he saw grey clouds above him, but his eyes wouldn't stay open long enough to see if it was going to rain.

"I'm riding with you," she demanded, leaving no room for argument. Then Brock watched the clouds be replaced with the ceiling of a strange car. The world began to sway below him and a piercing alarm started ringing.

He may not have known anything else at the moment, but he would always recognize an ambulance siren.

Mandy leaned over him, her eyes looking sad.

"I'm not sad, just worried about you," she said. He didn't think he'd spoken aloud, but he also wasn't sure. Everything was getting shiny.

"Is there anyone else you want me to call?"

Brock shook his head. His only family was still in another country handling a mission. There was no one else.

"Okay. Don't worry, I'm not going anywhere," she promised. Brock nodded, feeling his eyes close. He was too exhausted to fight the pull of sleep, even as he heard his name being called.

He hoped his brothers would come home soon. That thought sent him careening off the edge into darkness.


	3. Fever Dream

"_You can't even handle a simple infection like a man! Letting strangers try to save you while you're sleeping like a princess! You're Weak!_

_Weak!_

_**Weak!**_

_His dad was there, looming over him with a rope clutched in his hands. Brock tried to fight back, to force his body to move, but it was futile. His dad securely tied him down then unfastened his belt._

"_I won't have a weak son."_

"_No! Dad, no, please! Don't! Please, I'll be strong! I swear!"_

_The belt landed across his stomach, the buckle striking his side. He cried out and his dad smiled._

_Another hit, to the same exact spot. Brock could do nothing but scream and cry and scream again._

_There was no one there to save him._

* * *

Brock abruptly surfaced from the darkness, panic clawing its way up his throat as his eyes blearily struggled to scan the shadowed room for any sign of his father. Suddenly Mandy was leaning over him, her hand on his shoulder.

"You're okay, it was just a dream. You're okay."

He dared glance down at his body, searching for any signs of trauma inflicted by a belt. Just because he didn't see any through the hospital dressing gown didn't mean they weren't there.

"_I won't have a weak son."_

He flinched, a tear slipping down his cheek. Mandy silently wiped it away and cupped the side of his face while her other hand remained on his shoulder, anchoring him.

"You're okay," she repeated.

Slowly the panic dissipated leaving him feeling exhausted. And while he didn't want to close his eyes for fear the dream would start up right where it had left off, he couldn't fight the pull of sleep.

"I'm right here," Mandy vowed as he fell back asleep.

* * *

"Trent, he made me promise."

Mandy's voice unceremoniously pulled him from sleep, though Brock was glad another nightmare hadn't been the source of his waking.

"I wasn't thinking about that at the time!"

Brock blinked open his eyes, watching Mandy pace the floor at the foot of his bed. He could practically hear Trent's angry voice through the phone. Though she seemed to be holding her own against him. It was impressive.

"You can be mad at me all you want, but right now you need to focus on Brock!"

That seemed to shut Sawyer up, and after a moment of silence Mandy continued, "I found him on the bathroom floor with a fever of 104, so I brought him back to the hospital. The doctor said he has a serious infection and honestly I didn't exactly understand the rest but they're closely monitoring him."

"Yeah, they mentioned respiratory distress and were debating putting him on a ventilator then decided against it. No, an oxygen mask. He's woken up a few times but nothing coherent. Okay. Yeah, I understand. Got it. Tell him he can bite my head off after you guys land. Alright. Bye."

The call ended leaving Mandy staring at her phone in silence. Brock shifted, planning to leverage himself into a sitting position, but was immediately overcome with a crushing wave of pain. His side felt as if someone was actively holding a blowtorch against his skin, while his chest felt heavy and it was difficult to breathe. Even his limbs seemed cumbersome.

He wasn't aware of groaning, yet Mandy jumped all the same.

"Dammit, you scared the hell out of me!" she exclaimed, hurrying over to him. "How are you feeling?"

He held out his hand and gave her a wobbly thumbs down. She quickly pressed the call button. A moment later a nurse bustled in and began asking questions. Brock struggled through them, his voice muffled by the oxygen mask attached to his face, but once she was satisfied she injected a syringe into his IV before leaving the room.

Then he was floating, Mandy squeezing his hand. "The team's on their way, just rest."

Brock nodded, the drugs mercifully muting his apprehension to becoming the team's center of attention. Instead he listened to Mandy, and while he was unsure what he'd done to earn such a loyal friend, her presence helped him relax enough to slip back into sleep.

* * *

_His dad stood over him, a dark look on his face._

_ "You're too weak to be my son!"_

_ Before Brock could defend himself he was thrown to the ground and repeatedly kicked in the side. The pain was excruciating, but what made it worse was rolling over in an attempt to escape and seeing his teammates sprawled on the ground nearby._

_ They weren't moving, and there was blood everywhere and oh my god nonono_

_ "Those friends of yours were dragging you down, but not anymore!"_

_ Jason, Ray, Sonny, Trent, and Clay were lying haphazardly not three yards from him, bloodied and beaten with glassy eyes that stared back at him._

_ His dad kicked him again, sending him splashing into a dark puddle. He gagged as an iron tang filling his nostrils along with a horrible realization._

_ He was lying in his brothers' blood._

* * *

Brock jerked awake, scrambling to wipe off the blood from his face, his chest, his arms, everywhere and anywhere it had come in contact. He could feel it burning his skin but he didn't care.

His brothers were dead and it was _his fault._

Suddenly hands were gripping his wrists, forcing him to stop any attempts at getting clean. He fought against them as his eyes blew wide open, terrified of coming face to face with his father.

Instead it was Clay and Sonny.

"Whoa, easy, you're okay," Clay said, gently pushing him back down onto the bed while tightly holding one of his wrists.

"Brock?" Sonny asked, concern lacing his voice. He held the other wrist. "You with us?"

"I d'n't...I gotta...off me," he slurred, still fighting against them.

"Hey buddy, easy, you're okay," Clay soothed. Maybe his desire to sprint from the room was that evident. Brock wasn't sure; he only knew he needed to get the blood _off_.

"_No_," he whimpered, fear making his throat constrict. He managed to jerk away from them both and began fumbling with the oxygen mask, but they easily stopped him.

"Brock?" Sonny asked, gently squeezing his shoulder with the hand that wasn't holding his wrist. "What's going on? Come on, talk to us."

Brock shook his head as he screwed his eyes shut, unable to face their worried glances. A whimper escaped past his clenched teeth. The dream had felt so _real_ he was having a hard time accepting the happy truth that it wasn't. His brothers were okay and there with him.

"Y'r blood...saw y'r blood," he whispered.

"Get a wet towel," Clay murmured, somehow managing to take both of Brock's wrists so Sonny could hurry into the attached bathroom. There was the sound of a sink faucet turning on, then footsteps before a cold sensation swept across his forehead.

Brock opened his eyes, surprised to see Sonny leaning over him with a towel in his hand, slowly wiping it down his face. "Gotta get the blood off," he said matter-of-factly, as if it was the simplest thing in the world. Brock nodded, glad someone finally understood.

"How do you feel now?" Clay asked once Sonny finished.

"M'hot," Brock replied, too tired to lie. While the cold water from the towel had helped it still seemed his insides were being cooked.

"You've still got a fever. The other guys went home to get some rest but they'll be back tomorrow," Clay said.

"And before you panic, Cerb's with Trent and he'll be here tomorrow too," Sonny added.

Brock nodded again, suddenly overcome with feeling like a massive burden. "S'rry."

Clay leaned forward. "You have nothing to apologize for. I mean, besides being stubborn, but we're all used to that."

Brock glanced up in surprise. "You're…you're not mad?"

"We're pissed you got hurt, and that you're back in the hospital, but no buddy, no one's mad at you," Sonny replied.

"There's nowhere we'd rather be," Clay said. "I mean, Sonny'd probably like to be at a strip club, but he can wait until you're on the mend."

Sonny grinned unashamedly.

"Get some sleep," Clay suggested, noticing the effort it was taking Brock to stay awake. "We're not going anywhere."

Brock allowed his eyes to close, some of the tension leaving his chest as he listened to his brothers settle back into their respective chairs on either side of his bed. His body quickly pulled him back into sleep.

* * *

Quiet voices filtered through the darkness but Brock was too content to stay in the semi-sleep.

"He was confused," Clay said quietly. "He mentioned blood and needing to clean it off."

"Nightmare?" Ray asked.

"Probably," Trent replied. "He's been running a high fever, it would make sense."

Sonny whistled lowly. "So now he's gotta deal with hallucinations on top of everything else?"

"He'll be okay once the antibiotics have a chance to really work the infection out of his system," Trent explained. "The doc said his lungs are holding steady, which is a big improvement from a few days ago."

"Who knew Brockolli could cause so much trouble," Sonny mused.

"Let's keep it down, I don't wanna wake him," Ray said.

"He's right. Get settled," Trent agreed.

Brock didn't want to go back to sleep, but the occasional whisper lulled him deeper into the darkness.

* * *

It felt like minutes had passed but Brock realized it might've been hours when his eyes opened again. For a moment he stared around the darkened room, trying to figure out who was there or if he'd mercifully been left alone.

"Hey, you okay?" Ray asked from beside him. Brock turned his head to meet Perry's gaze. He looked alert; obviously he'd been stuck on guard duty.

Brock felt something shift against his feet and glanced down, surprised to see Cerberus curled up on the end of his bed. Then he spotted the rest of Bravo team asleep in various positions of discomfort around the room; Jason and Trent had claimed the other two armchairs while Sonny and Clay lay stretched out side by side on the spare bed, their heads pillowed on their jackets.

Ray followed his gaze and explained, "None of them wanted to leave."

Brock felt a warmth spread through him at the realization that his entire team was there for _him_. Even if they were probably breaking every hospital rule to do so.

The back of Ray's hand against his forehead made him jerk, and Ray gave him a sheepish smile.

"Your fever finally broke."

"Oh," Brock sighed, just noticing the raging inferno from earlier seemed to have tapered off.

"Do you wanna talk about that dream you had earlier? Whatever it was, seemed to spook you."

He shook his head, not wanting to meet Ray's piercing gaze. Their number two was proficient in reading people, especially those closest to him. He'd be able to see through Brock's crumbling facade in a split second. And talking about his dead dad while he was still emotional from the fever seemed like a recipe for disaster.

"No rush, brother," Ray said, squeezing his arm.

Brock stiffened, realizing someone was missing and had been for a while. "Where's Mandy?"

"Jase sent her home, she was exhausted and we were here to take over," Ray replied. "He told her we'd call if anything changed."

"Oh."

Brock wasn't sure why he felt so strange about her not being there. Maybe it was because she'd been his one constant since he'd returned to the states how ever many days ago. He vaguely realized he didn't even know how long ago that was.

"You good?"

Brock nodded. "Just tired."

"Alright, well try to get some more sleep," Ray said. Brock obediently closed his eyes. Slowly the feeling of _safe_ outweighed the feeling of _wrong_ and he allowed his brothers' presences to lull him to sleep.

* * *

After two rounds of heavy antibiotics and numerous temp checks and **way** too many blood draws and being incessantly poked and prodded, Brock was dying to be released. Of course, he still had to contend with his teammates mothering him, but it was a step in the right direction.

Once the doctor had officially discharged him and he was shuffling down the hall surrounded by his team did it finally sink in that he was leaving the hospital. No more antiseptic smell clogging his nostrils, no more crappy "food", no more being stuck in bed with nothing to do. Trent begrudgingly agreed he could go to his own home under the agreement that Clay would crash on his couch to help out around the place and take care of Cerberus. Brock quickly vowed to take it easy, knowing it was better to take the small victory. Then once he was able to start recuperating the team would go back to the way it had always been; he was the dependable, level-headed one who hated being in the spotlight.

He wasn't fragile.

The team said their farewells in the parking lot, Jason needing to go check in with Emma and Mikey while Ray wanted to get home to his family. Sonny mentioned something about seeing a blonde which they all knew was code for a strip club. Trent vowed to call and check in later that evening.

He climbed into Clay's truck, Cerberus stretched out on the backseat. There was music and sunshine and he felt himself relaxing for the first time since the accident. His side twinged a few times they took a corner too fast and his lungs still weren't back to 100%, but he didn't care.

All that mattered was he was okay, and his team was okay, and his dog was okay. Everything else would sort itself out.


	4. Ignore

Brock awoke slowly, taking stock of his surroundings. He was in bed, the blinds and curtains closed. Cerberus was stretched out beside him, fast asleep. The faint sound of the tv in the living room echoed into his room along with Clay and Sonny's voices.

For a while he simply laid there, drifting in and out of sleep. At one point the tv turned off before Clay quietly opened the door to allow Cerberus out. Then the apartment was quiet.

It wasn't until after that when Brock got out of bed.

Clad in his favorite pair of sweatpants, which had somehow become too big on him, he walked out into the living room and looked around. Everything was tidy and nothing appeared out of place, and the dishwasher was running in the kitchen. Obviously having Clay around as a live-in maid had some perks.

He spotted a note on the counter and read it quickly.

_ "Took Cerb for a run, Sonny had to do some errands. There's leftover soup in the fridge if you get hungry. Naima and Ray are having a bbq at their place tonight if you're feeling up to it. Text if you need anything!"_

He was finally all alone, and Brock had no clue what to do with himself. It'd only been two days since he was released from the hospital and he was already climbing the walls. It wasn't that he hated his brothers' affection, or their concern for his well being, but their smothering only added to his irritability. Which he felt was justified considering they _never left him alone_.

Having Clay underfoot was expected, considering the younger man was crashing on his couch under direct team orders. That turned out to be truly helpful when Brock realized how many stairs three flights included. Cerb needed someone to run with him and Clay was only too eager.

Jason and Ray split their attention between constantly checking in on him and spending time with their families, something he hated. He wasn't an invalid and they deserved a chance to relax. Trent had so far called each afternoon to make sure Clay gave him an update while muddling through a home remodel with Becky.

Then there was Sonny, who'd arrived each afternoon unannounced with two cases of beer. He'd proceed to order food, spend a few hours watching tv, then go home.

And through it all Brock desperately missed the quiet peace of living alone with his dog. Add in the bonus of still not feeling one-hundred percent back to his old self meant staying in his room, the lights turned off and the curtains closed, while he slept for most of the day.

He felt like a wounded animal that needed to be left alone to lick its wounds and none of the guys were understanding that. But if there was one thing he'd learned after being an operator for nearly half his life, it was the unspoken rule of never showing up to a bbq empty handed. Getting out of the house for a quick trip to the grocery store seemed like the best idea he'd had in a while. So he went back into his room, pulled on a t-shirt and flip flops, grabbed his wallet and keys, and left.

Naturally his body had other plans. He'd barely started driving when he was forced to pull over to blink away the black dots obscuring his vision. A wave of dizziness hit and he slumped forward, resting his forehead against the steering wheel.

Considering how awful he was feeling he wasn't sure driving was a good idea. But calling one of his teammates to come get him, being a hassle _yet again_, felt even worse. Then when he realized he'd forgotten his phone at home, he sat up, stubbornly ran a hand through his hair, and twisted the key in the ignition.

The store wasn't that far and his stubborn refusal to admit weakness, something instilled in him from a young age and then expounded upon as a member of Bravo, screamed _don't stop_. And before he knew it he was parking in front of the grocery store.

He forced himself inside, ignoring the way the world swung around him. If anyone noticed a gruff man haphazardly wandering around no one said anything. It wasn't until he tripped and crashed into an aisle, nearly knocking over all of the cereal boxes in the process, that he realized his shopping trip wasn't going to be successful. He'd only managed to find one bag of chips he could remember all of the guys liking and suddenly people were staring at him. He put the chips back on the shelf and dejectedly went out to the parking lot, a hand pressed against his aching side. It was just his luck he'd hit the same spot where his incision was.

Time seemed to jump because before he knew it he was back at his apartment complex. A flicker of panic hit him when he couldn't remember driving home, but he figured it was delayed exhaustion as he dragged his tired ass up the three flights of stairs.

His apartment was quiet, no sign of either Clay or Cerberus. Brock celebrated that fact as he went into his room and slowly lowered himself down onto his bed with his hand still pressed firmly against his side. If Clay had come back to find him gone there would've been hell to pay. Not just from his youngest teammate, but also from Jason, Ray, and Trent.

Once he was horizontal he barely had time to check his phone, which had no missed calls or texts, before his eyes began to close.

His body screamed at him to rest and he reluctantly obeyed, ignoring the fire burning under his skin.

* * *

Brock awoke to hushed voices and the sound of a door opening. A hand on his shoulder had him jerking awake.

"Sorry, I didn't wanna wake you but Blackburn called a meeting on base," Clay said, taking a step back. Brock scrubbed a hand down his face. He felt like he'd barely fallen asleep and whereas earlier he'd been burning up he was suddenly cold. He forced down the discomfort and hid how awful he was feeling. _Ignore and override. _

"Okay, give me a minute."

Clay stepped out of the room giving Brock a chance to struggle upright, his head swimming. He managed to get dressed all the while bracing himself for what was to come.

The only reason Blackburn would call a meeting when they were on designated downtime was something major was going on and they needed the team. But since he wasn't technically cleared, there was the possibility his brothers would be going somewhere without him. That thought didn't sit well with him as he stepped out into the living room, Clay and Cerberus already raring to go.

"As you're all aware, this team is currently out of operations while Brock is healing," Blackburn said, standing at the front of the conference room. "However, we've been specifically requested to help with a situation arising in Serbia."

"What sort of situation?" Jason asked.

"High profile target - Andreas Boskovic, arms dealer who recently began trading with the Haqqani Network. Rumor has it he's also been linked to numerous terrorist cells in Yemen and Sudan," Mandy explained. Everyone turned, surprised to see she'd been able to sneak into a room full of highly trained Seals who were none the wiser.

Brock avoided her gaze, a flash of embarrassment making his cheeks burn. Because the last time they'd seen each other she was comforting him in the hospital after he'd had a _very_ intense nightmare. Then radio silence when Jason sent her home.

"Why do I have a feelin' you want this creep alive?" Sonny asked.

Mandy chuckled, coming to stand beside Blackburn and Davis. "That's exactly what I want. If you can bring him to me breathing, I can get all the info about his lovely customers."

"And what does this mean for Brock? He isn't cleared to come with us," Trent said. Brock glanced at Blackburn, curious himself what sort of arrangement he'd be forced to endure while his team went out without him.

"The base doc has agreed to see you tonight and potentially clear you for active duty, and if you aren't cleared we can figure out our next move," Blackburn said, looking at Brock.

"Plane leaves in two hours," Davis added, looking at the other guys.

"I'll go with you to see the doc, make sure he knows the whole situation," Trent suggested as the team began standing up.

"I'm sure he can find the infirmary on his own," Ray teased. Trent sent him a withering glare.

"I'd prefer to be there."

Ray held up his hands in mock surrender and reluctantly Brock followed Trent out of the room and down the hall towards the med center. The walk was silent, just two guys avoiding having a conversation one _desperately_ wanted and the other _desperately_ didn't.

Of course the base doctor pissed Trent off within seconds of them stepping into the treatment room after he took Brock's word that his stitches were healing just fine and didn't need to be examined. There was an unspoken look shared between teammates that clearly said, _"We'll talk about this later."_

"Your vitals are good, but I am a little concerned about your lungs. I'm hearing some wheezing and slight rales on the left side. Nothing too serious, but I'd like to start you on a round of antibiotics just to kick whatever it is in the butt. Unfortunately that means I won't be able to clear you for active duty quite yet," the doctor said, slinging his stethoscope back around his neck. He eyed Trent warily.

"Will that make you happy?"

Trent gave him a sardonic smile. "Peachy."

The doctor accepted it as the best he was going to get from the infamous Trent Sawyer and quickly gave Brock his first dose of the antibiotic. After swallowing the offered pill Brock climbed down from the exam table while the doctor handed Trent the medication, and then they were headed to the cages.

"Alright, so he prescribed you amoxicillin, you've never thrown a reaction to it before so we should be good. I've got codeine and acetaminophen in my bag already so we're good there. I'll make sure Davis knows your med schedule so she can administer it if I'm not available," Trent rambled, thinking out loud. Brock silently kept pace and tried to simply be thankful his brother was too distracted to remember to check his side.

Because he had a feeling he'd torn at least a few stitches and Trent would know something happened.

"What's the verdict?" Clay asked when they walked into the room.

"Not cleared yet, he's on antibiotics," Trent replied.

"Wait, antibiotics? Is it serious?" Jason asked.

"Hopefully not, the doc just wants to stop any infection from getting worse," Trent replied.

Jason walked out of his cage. "I'll go talk to Blackburn, see what he suggests."

Brock sat down and watched the other guys pack their gear while Cerberus lay on the floor chewing on his favorite bone. After a few minutes Jason and Blackburn entered the room.

"Sorry you weren't cleared," Blackburn said to Brock. "That doesn't leave us with much options. You can either opt to sit out this spin up due to a medical situation so it won't go in your file, or you can come along and hang back with us at TOC. Decision's yours."

"You just got outta the hospital two days ago brother, maybe sitting this one out is a good idea," Ray suggested.

"It won't be the same without you," Sonny whined.

"Way to make him feel worse," said Clay.

Sonny huffed. "For your information Bam Bam, Brockolli's never missed a spin up since he's joined us. Now he's gonna be stuck at home bored outta his skull."

"He'll be sleeping most of the time!" Clay griped.

"If you do decide to stay I can have Becky come by to check on you," Trent said. Brock weighed his options. Stay at home and try to rest while knowing his team was in another country without him, or go along and at least be privy to the action.

"I'll go," he said. Cerberus perked his head up in response.

"Are you sure?" Trent asked, eyeing him closely. Brock nodded.

"I'll be fine."

Brock grabbed his overnight bag and minimal gear (which he knew he wouldn't be needing but it felt way too strange not to bring just in case) and followed Blackburn out of the room, Cerberus on his heels. He felt the stares of his brothers' on his back as the door closed while he tried to stifle the cough he felt tickling his throat. He hoped by giving the antibiotics time to work he'd soon be back to his pre-accident level fitness. He was beyond tired of everyone looking at him like he was weak.

Arguably though sitting on a plane while everyone around him was busy doing their jobs was really going to suck, and he wasn't feeling great either and he wanted the day to be over already.

Davis and Mandy were already on the plane when he boarded so he quickly stowed his bag and got to work stringing up his hammock in a secluded corner.

"Hey, you cleared?" Davis asked as she walked over.

Brock shook his head, unsure what else to say.

"At least you still get to go," she said. Brock gave a half-hearted shrug, still trying to deflect. Because she was nearly as talented as Ray at reading people.

Davis gave his arm a squeeze. "Well, I'm here if you wanna talk." Then she headed back over to Mandy who was deeply engrossed in reading some paperwork. He wasn't sure if she was actually reading, or simply avoiding him. He tried to ignore how that made him feel.

He climbed into his hammock and Cerberus hopped in to lay on his legs as the rest of the guys boarded the plane. Brock slipped on his headphones and closed his eyes, hoping that would send a clear enough message to the others to leave him be.

* * *

Brock awoke to a hand squeezing his shoulder. He opened his eyes to find Trent standing beside him with his latest dose of antibiotics.

"Sorry buddy, just gotta take these real quick then you can get back to sleep," Trent said. Brock realized he'd fallen asleep not soon after liftoff, and that at some point someone had covered him with a blanket. He felt his cheeks burn as he held out his hand for the offered pill and water bottle.

Cerberus stirred from the position on top of Brock's legs where he'd stretched himself out quite contently. Brock glanced around, surprised to see Clay and Sonny asleep in their respective hammocks not far from his.

Trent watched him swallow the pill and take a couple extra gulps of water. "I'll let you get some more rest. We've still got a few hours until we land."

Brock nodded, snuggling down under the blanket and watching Trent head back over to Jason and Ray who were talking with Blackburn.

"I can hear your brain whirrin' from here," Sonny mumbled. Brock was silent, hoping his brother would fall back asleep. He felt lousy and the last thing he wanted was a heart to heart.

"We don't think any less of you 'cause you weren't cleared."

"He knows that," Clay said. Brock rolled his eyes, wishing both of his brothers would _go to sleep_.

"Well, in case he doesn't, I wanted to tell him!" Sonny grumbled. Clay chuckled and Brock felt minutely better about the whole situation. He wasn't looking forward to being sidelined while his team went into a potentially dangerous situation, but he was thankful to at least be in country with them. That thought alone helped ease his mind as he settled in for the remainder of the flight.


	5. Override

Brock desperately tried to listen to Blackburn, he really did. But every other word slipped in one ear and out the other and he didn't have the energy to spare focusing any harder. It was difficult enough paying attention hunkered in his hammock with the team milling around him.

He'd awoken a few minutes before they landed, groggy and disoriented with a tightness in his chest that he wasn't a fan of. Davis gave him his next dose while the guys got ready, and he longed to go back to sleep. But he swore to himself that he'd listen to the last minute debriefing before his team went into the field.

He owed them that much.

"You good?" Ray asked as he grasped his shoulder. Brock gave a clipped nod, aware of everyone looking at him. He was exhausted and generally felt like shit. Yet he was there with his brothers and wouldn't trade that for the world.

"Alright boys," Blackburn said, nodding towards the open end of the aircraft. Their mission for that day was simple; they would monitor Luca Boskovic's apartment in Belgrade where he was last known to be staying. Once enough intel was gathered the team would put together an interdiction plan to grab him.

"See you soon," said Clay, holding out his fist towards Brock before giving Cerb a quick pat. Sonny quickly followed suit with his hand also outstretched.

"Get some rest," Ray added.

Trent pointed at Cerb, then Brock. "Stay in this hammock."

Brock huffed, a warmth spreading through his chest as Jace affectionately ruffled his hair. "Just relax, we'll be back before you know it."

He watched his team leave the aircraft, dressed in civilian clothes with weapons hidden. It wasn't until their car drove off that he allowed himself to slump further down into the hammock, waves of misery washing over him.

His chest was tight, each breath accompanied by a faint wheeze that hadn't been there before. Add in the body aches and the inability to get warm and he was preparing himself for a long day.

"Hey, you okay?" Davis asked. Brock glanced up at her, the lie dying on his tongue.

"Not really," he replied truthfully.

With a nod she covered him with a third blanket. "It's pretty obvious."

"Think the guys noticed?"

She smiled. "Nothing gets past a Tier One operator when it comes to their teammates. So yeah, they definitely noticed. But don't worry about it."

Cerb shifted against his legs, perking up when he spotted Mandy. Davis laughed. "I think someone wants to go say hi."

Brock sighed, bracing himself to throw back the blankets and start the arduous process of disentangling himself from the cocoon he'd created. "He probably needs to go for a walk."

"I'll take him," Davis offered, grabbing a nearby leash. Cerb delicately extricated himself from the hammock and happily bounded over to her. And while it felt strange having someone besides one of the guys take care of his dog, it was nice knowing it wasn't all on him while he was feeling so awful.

Instead, he settled back down in the hammock and stared up at the ceiling, listening to the distant conversations swirling around him.

* * *

_Brock opened the door, surprised to see the guys all gathered around holding beers and laughing. Their happiness evaporated once they spotted him, the room instantly growing silent._

"_Here to ruin our party?"_

_He was dismayed to see his dad standing between Jason and Clay._

"_I don't….I…."_

_His dad barked out a harsh laugh, the guys mimicking it. "He always was a slow one!"_

"_Maybe we should replace him?" Jason mused._

"_Even my grandma would be a better dog handler," Ray agreed._

_Trent crossed his arms. "You're not essential to this team."_

"_We'd be fine without you," said Clay_

"_Hell, we're doing just fine right now!" Sonny added._

_Brock watched his dad crouch down to pet Cerberus, a predatory gleam in his eyes as he glared up at his son. "Guess I was right about you all along, complete waste of time. They don't need you."_

Brock pulled himself from the dream, shoving all the blankets off of him and dumping them on the floor.

"What's going on?" Davis asked as she rose from the hammock beside his that she'd commandeered.

"I'm alright," he lied without even fully processing what she'd asked, still wrapped up in his dream. It wasn't until he saw her expression that he paused.

She stood beside him with arms crossed. "Wanna try again?"

"I'm okay. Nothing to worry about," Brock said.

Davis shook her head. "That's bullshit and you know it. Once Trent finds out how sick you are he'll demand to get you to a hospital, and none of the other guys are gonna fight him on that."

"They wouldn't scrap a mission just cause I'm sick," he argued.

Davis squeezed his knee, a knowing look on her face. "You wonderful, amazing idiot."

Brock swallowed past the sudden lump in his throat, needing to get away from her before she saw how fucked up he really was. "I need to use the bathroom."

She gave him a sad smile as he rose to his feet and rushed past her towards the cramped onboard bathroom, Mandy and Blackburn watching from nearby.

The cold water splashed on his face helped shake the remnants of the dream. Though he could still hear laughter ringing in his head.

"_They don't need you."_

Scratch that, the laughter was real. The faint voices of his team echoed from the rear of the plane and Brock groaned, ill-prepared to face their scrutiny. He didn't bother glancing in the small mirror bracketed to the wall, not needing to see the dark bruises under his eyes or spots of color high on his cheeks to know he looked about as well as he felt.

A knock on the door made him flinch. "You good?" Jace asked.

Praying his voice wouldn't betray him, Brock replied, "Yeah, I'll be out in a minute."

"Okay."

He waited a moment, forcing down the cough that kept creeping up his throat, then opened the door. Any hope of being left alone was dashed the instant he walked out of the bathroom and into the waiting mob of Bravo Team.

Trent took one look at him and turned around, hunting for his med bag. Brock opened his mouth to say he was fine but Jason had grabbed his elbow and was steering him back towards the hammocks while the others followed close behind.

"When'd you give him his last dose?" Ray asked Davis.

"Two hours ago," she replied. Brock had no memory of waking up to take more meds, but chalked that up to how lousy he was feeling.

Jason guided him down onto one of the seats against the wall. It seemed that until Trent gave the all clear, he would be man-handled every which way. At least sitting upright took some of the strain off his chest.

Trent appeared with his full med bag and crouched down in front of him. "How are you feeling? And don't bother trying to lie to me."

Brock hesitated. His father's voice echoing in the back of his head "_They don't need you."_ If he wasn't strong enough, if he wasn't good enough, if he wasn't _enough_ then he'd be replaced.

And being sick meant weakness.

"I'm feeling a lot better, I think I just needed some rest."

Trent sighed heavily. "I thought I said not to lie."

Brock shook his head, unsure what else to do. Admitting how sick he felt wasn't an option. "I'm fine."

"Brock," Jason warned, his voice carrying an edge to it. Brock shrank under the scrutiny. "Be honest."

He stared down at his hands, feeling the weight of his team's eyes on him. If lying wasn't allowed then he'd keep his mouth shut. He was fine staying silent. And if he was dizzy, and his chest hurt, and he was stifling hot, then no one needed to know. Being the quiet one on the team had its perks.

"Brock," Trent repeated, a hand resting on one of his knees. "Come on, it's _us_. What's going on in that head of yours?"

"If you're worried about the mission, don't be," Ray added. "This is about intel, it's not a spin up. Even if it was we'd still drop everything to make sure you're okay. You know that, right?"

Brock gave a noncommittal shrug. He understood the _concept_ of being part of a team that cared about his well being, but it was still foreign. Almost too good to be true.

Something he could ruin if he wasn't careful.

"If you don't wanna talk that's fine, but at least let me check your temp and pulse ox," Trent said. Reluctantly Brock held out his hand to which the medic clipped the portable monitor to his index finger. Then he held the temp gauge against his forehead.

"Oxygen level's at 95%, with a temp of 99," Trent said, easily switching into medic mode. "Neither of those are great, but they're aren't bad enough to warrant any panic yet."

Jace frowned. "What's that mean?"

"He's most likely developing a cold, or worse case scenario pneumonia," Trent replied as he shoved items back into his bag. "We'd need a test to confirm."

"So hospital?" Ray asked.

"Whoa, that's not an option!" interjected Mandy. Five SEALs turned to glare at her, while Brock was left trying to peer around numerous torsos.

"We're not cleared for any presence on the ground. The Serbian government doesn't know we're here, and we have to be half way over the Atlantic before they find out."

"Even posing as American tourists is too risky," Davis added.

"So what do you suggest?" Clay asked.

"We finish the job and get the hell out of here. There's plenty of base hospitals we can stop at on our way home," Blackburn replied.

"He's been taking his antibiotics, aren't they supposed to help?" asked Davis.

"They do, but if it's turning into full-blown pneumonia he's gonna need heavier meds and possibly even oxygen. None of which I have. All I'd be able to do is keep him hydrated with an IV," said Trent.

"Let's plan on how we're gonna grab Boscovic so we can be long gone before anything else happens," Jason said as he looked around. His gaze landed on Brock whom he gave a small smile. "We've got you."

Brock gave his team leader a quick nod of gratitude. The absolute last thing he wanted was to end up back in the hospital, especially if he was going to avoid having anyone doubt his ability to do his job. He needed to be at the top of his game in order to stay on the team.

Even if that meant downplaying how sick he was feeling.

"Alright, you wanna sleep here or your hammock?" Trent asked.

"Here's fine," said Brock. His friend stood, giving him a pat on the shoulder before ushering the others over to where Blackburn, Mandy, and Davis stood. After a moment Cerberus trotted over to him with his tail wagging, hopping up in the seat next to him and curling up.

Brock crossed his arms over his chest to hide the shivers rattling his body and closed his eyes, vowing to only take a short nap before joining the others in their planning session. Because no matter how sick he felt, he still needed to prove his worth.

With those thoughts swirling in his head, he allowed his teammates' voices to lull him to sleep.

* * *

"No."

"Hear me out," Brock argued.

"No," Trent repeated, his arms crossed. The two of them faced down each other in the center of the plane while the rest of the team watched, albeit from a safe distance. Clay held Cerberus' collar to keep the nervous canine away from the argument.

"I'll just be providing backup. This is a tricky job and you need me."

Trent shook his head. "We've managed tougher interdictions before."

"It's Jase's call, not yours!"

Brock stubbornly held his ground when Trent took an angry step forward and hissed. "In case it wasn't abundantly clear, _you are still healing_!"

"I'm fine."

"Well if you think any of us believe that, then you're an idiot."

A flash of rage swept over Brock, something he was completely unaccustomed to. He'd been angry before seeing an animal abused or fighting terrorists, but never so mad he couldn't see straight. And never at Trent.

"Okay, why don't we take a breath and talk this out?" Ray suggested, appearing between them. Brock blinked a few times, unsure when Bravo Two had materialized.

"He's not going," Trent said, turning to Jason and Blackburn.

"Screw you," Brock spat, shoving past Ray and hastily leaving the plane. He kept walking until the glow from the interior lights no longer lit his way across the cracked asphalt. He didn't stop until his breathing had evened back out and his fists no longer shook with suppressed anger.

A sharp bark of panic from Cerberus echoed across the empty airport towards him, and as he turned to glance back at the plane something cracked against his skull.

Then there was darkness.


	6. Runner

**[A/N : I lack any medical knowledge, so if there's flaws or obvious errors please feel free to message me. Besides that though, enjoy the story!]**

Brock was abruptly dragged back into consciousness by a meaty hand slapping his face. For a moment, ears ringing and pulse pounding in his skull, he flashed back to the time he told his dad he got a B- on a math test which resulted in a similar backhand. But when his eyes opened onto a dreary room and the angry men before him, he nearly wished for his dad.

Because Andreas Boskovic was watching him closely while his goons loitered behind him.

"Welcome to Serbia."

"Wha...what's going on?" Brock gasped, finding his arms and legs tied to the chair he was sitting in. He quickly counted the seven heavily armed men between him and the two exits. And who knew how many more were outside of the windowless room?

He was in trouble.

"Your friends forgot this is _my_ city. Nothing happens here without my knowledge," Andreas replied as he lit a cigarette.

"My friends?"

Andreas smiled at him. "The other Americans, the ones that tried to spy on me."

Brock shook his head. _Play dumb._ "I don't know what you're talking about."

"You're just a tourist who got lost?" Andreas grinned. "I've heard this lie before."

"I'm not lying!"

Andreas motioned for one of his men. "Let's see if Boris can change your mind."

One of the men, presumably Boris, stepped forward with a bucket of water and a towel, causing Brock to instantly freeze.

Waterboarding.

His SERE training flashed through his mind; Don't panic. Take a big breath.

Brock started breathing deeper, preparing his lungs for the inevitable moment they'd be deprived of any oxygen. But of course whatever illness was still rattling within his chest left him coughing instead. And then the chair was being tipped back onto two legs and the towel was over his face and there was water.

So much water, streaming up his nose and into his mouth. He thrashed and bucked, his chest on fire as water continued to splash over his face and through the soaked towel.

Suddenly the chair was dropped back onto all four legs and the towel disappeared, leaving Brock choking to exhale the water from his lungs while simultaneously trying to draw a breath in.

Andreas crouched down in front of him. "Ready to tell me the truth?"

Brock shook his head no, he'd been trained to endure torture. He could keep going until his body gave out. Mind over matter.

He just hoped the guys would find him before then.

Andreas stood up, brushing his hands on his jeans. "Call me when he breaks."

The chair tipped back as Boscovic left the room. They repeated the same actions over and over. Boris would ask Brock's name, where he was from, what he was doing in Serbia. Brock would give him the same answers and then the towel would be back over his face.

Drowning.

Drowning.

_Drowning._

Until the fifth attempt, when Boris just kept pouring. As he blacked out Brock wondered if the guys even knew he was missing.

* * *

Brock came to with his chin tucked against his chest and water dribbling from his lax mouth and nose.

"He won't break," Boris said from nearby.

Brock fought back the cough tickling his throat and opened his eyes to mere slits to glance at the shackles binding him to the chair. They were sturdy metal, not something he could break out of without some help. Or a key.

Whoever Boris was talking to said something that made him laugh. Brock wanted to shove the phone down his throat and see how he liked choking.

He smiled to himself, the image helping to ease a little of the burden on his ribs.

"What is funny?" Boris demanded, appearing at his side and gripping Brock's chin to force him to look up.

Brock shrugged. "Inside joke."

Boris didn't find it funny. "My boss is very unhappy. He wants results."

Again Brock shrugged. "Can't help you there."

"I think you can."

A knock on the door made Boris let go of his chin, and Brock looked past him at the new goon who'd joined them. Boris took the syringe his friend offered and turned to him.

"This will make you talk."

Brock paled. Of all the potential tortures his training had prepared him for, being drugged was his least favorite. Drugs fucked with his head and suddenly he wished they'd just keep waterboarding him.

"Get that away from me," he said, writhing and pulling on the shackles as Boris approached. The man grinned as he grabbed Brock's arm and slowly, _slowly_ brought the needle closer to his bicep.

"No, don't! No!"

But the needle was jabbing into his bicep, deep into the muscle, and Boris was pushing down on the plunger. For a moment nothing happened. Boris took a step back and Brock tensed, waiting.

Then…

Then...everything..._shifted_.

"You really screwed up this time. And here I'd hoped he was gonna poison you."

His dad was standing in front of him, nursing a beer and a scowl. "What am I gonna do with you?"

_Do...what am I gonna do…_

His dad's mouth moved, but Boris' voice came out rather than his father's. "What is your name?"

_Reynolds. Bravo Five. Broccoli_ "Dad, it's me, Brock."

Again the creepy Boris-voice. "What are you doing in Serbia?"

"I can't...I can't tell you."

His dad's fist slammed into his jaw, his voice back to normal. "Don't get smart with me, boy!" Brock blinked away the stars bursting in his vision, the room slowly swinging around him.

The Boris-voice returned. "What are you doing in Serbia?"

"Dad...dad, please, I can't…" Brock begged, unsure how much longer he could hold out against his father. Waterboarding seemed like a dream compared to facing him. Every nightmare scenario, every moment spent in fear of the man standing before him came crashing back.

"No more excuses! **What are you doing in Serbia**?!"

A punch to his solar plexus had Brock gasping for air. Another punch sent his head snapping to the side. The third hit to his ribs definitely cracked something.

_His dad was going to kill him._

Sudden pops of gunfire were followed by a blast that filled the air with dust and acrid smoke. Brock fought to break free from the cuffs while debris rained down around him. Blinking a few times, he froze when he saw a chunk of the ceiling had caved in that left a pile of plaster and concrete on the floor.

Directly where his dad had been standing.

"No! Dad!"

He lurched forward, the shackles biting deep into his wrists. Continuing to twist and strain, he was left to helplessly watch his dad's eyes rove around the room before landing on him.

"Help…me..."

A second explosion rocked the building and there was a brief moment of weightlessness as Brock was sent soaring backwards. He crashed to the ground, the fall breaking the chair beneath him and leaving him dazed.

"S-on…"

His dad's faint voice brought him back to awareness. He struggled to throw off the broken remnants of the chair, the shackles still swinging madly on his wrists, before scrambling forward on his hands and knees towards his dad.

The man who inspired so many of his nightmares, who left him physically and emotionally scarred, stared up at Brock with unseeing eyes, blood leaking past his unmoving lips.

_His dad was dead._

Shouts echoed from outside the room and although he couldn't understand what language they were speaking over the ringing in his ears, Brock didn't dare risk it. He ran for the closest door and found himself in a stairwell. The voices were getting louder so he made a split-second decision - down, down, boots slapping on the stairs. He kept a firm grip on the railing as he went for fear that his wobbly legs might betray him.

Shadowy figures followed him, but he'd made it to the ground level and was hurtling through a door he prayed was an exit. Bright sunlight blinded him but he stubbornly started running, wanting to put as much distance between himself and his pursuers. Whoever they were.

Even if the rippling sidewalk was _really_ not helping.

A shout alerted him that he'd been found, but he didn't dare glance over his shoulder at the men chasing him before he was pushing his body to go faster.

Brock had always been a natural sprinter. His long legs, lean frame, and the demons yapping at his heels made the sport appear effortless. In high school he'd even considered getting a full-ride scholarship to whichever college was furthest from his hometown and never looking back.

Of course, after his dad died the military seemed his only option. Where else was he going to go where his quiet rage could be put to use helping people?

A cargo van screeched to a halt beside him, the doors flying open as more figures jumped out. Brock put all he had left to give into his legs, ducking under the fumbling grasp of one assailant and racing away even as his body screamed at him to rest.

He stumbled, the world spinning around him in wild circles. Everything was sliding in and out of focus and he was just so _tired_.

Arms slammed around him, locking him a tight embrace.

"Brock!"

He knew that voice…

Jason was standing in front of him, nearly nose to nose with his hands on either side of Brock's face.

"Wh're..." Brock slurred, each breath ripping through his lungs. His eyes flitted around trying to find the guys that had been chasing him. Someone had been chasing him...right?

"Easy, just breathe," Jason instructed. "Deep breaths."

Brock tried to do as he was told. He really did. But he couldn't ease the panic that still gripped him tightly, much like the arms around his chest.

"Jesus, he runs fast," Sonny panted from nearby.

"You got him?" Jason asked whoever still held him.

"Yeah," Clay replied. A wave of nausea crashed into him as Clay adjusted his grip then Jason and Sonny were each grabbing a leg before he was effortlessly lifted off his feet and carried to the van. Trent took Brock's upper body from Clay and gently eased him down onto the floor.

Sonny and Clay climbed in and sat on the bench seat bolted into the wall while Trent knelt beside him, his fingers deftly grasping the inside of his wrist to monitor his pulse. Maybe he could explain why his heart wouldn't stop trying to hammer its way out of his body.

"Ray, we gotta go!" Trent yelled.

"Everyone hold on," Ray ordered from the driver's seat as the van lurched into drive.

Even drugged up and dizzier than he could ever remember being, Brock relaxed in the presence of his teammates. He was safe.

"Hey buddy," Trent said in a gentle tone as he leaned over him with a worried expression. "You with me?"

Brock nodded yes, _yes_, what was the question? Why couldn't he focus?

He licked his lips, his voice dry and rough. "Wh're...g'ns?"

"Guns?" Sonny asked.

"Goons," Clay said, earning a nod from Brock.

"What goons?" Trent asked.

Brock shifted, struggling to find the words. "G'ns…ch'sin' me."

Sonny laughed. "_We_ were chasing you."

"No...was 'Ndre'."

Trent looked concerned. "Andreas?"

"Did you see him?" Jason asked from the front passenger seat. Brock gave another nod. He felt the mood in the van change.

"What'd he want?" Clay asked.

"N'fo," Brock replied with a shrug. "D'n't give him any...got wat'rb'rded."

A stethoscope appeared in Trent's hands. Before he could listen to his lungs, Brock added, "Gave me s'methin'. Made me...d'zzy. I d'n't like it."

"Did they say what it was?" Trent asked. Brock shook his head, his eyes slipping closed. "S'methin' bad."

"Hey, can you look at me?"

He hummed, turning his head away from Trent. Opening his eyes seemed like a bad idea considering how _very_ _close_ he was to puking. Besides, he was more focused on trying to make himself stop shivering.

"Why's he shakin'?" Sonny asked quietly.

"Delayed shock," Trent replied. "Whatever the hell they gave him probably isn't helping." A blanket materialized to cover him, though it did nothing to ease the shaking. Which only seemed to be getting worse.

"How far out are we?" Clay asked. Brock couldn't make out Jace's faint reply from the front of the van, and he didn't bother trying to. Simply staying in his body had become a monumental task.

"Brock, I'm gonna start an IV," Trent said, gently lifting his arm out from under the blanket before he started digging through his med bag.

Even though he knew Trent was a highly trained field medic who could perform an expert venipuncture in moments regardless of being in the back of a van speeding down the road, he weakly tried to pull his arm away. "N'm're dr'gs."

"You're dehydrated and if you didn't have pneumonia before you probably do now, " Trent said without pausing his ministrations. There was a swipe of something cool in the crook of Brock's elbow before the pinch of a needle.

The adrenaline that had fueled him quickly evaporated, leaving Brock dizzy and listless. He heard his teammates talking but slowly their voices faded into the darkness.


End file.
